


bittersweet migraine in my head

by leo_minor



Category: Akira (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Overdosing, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 08:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21335272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_minor/pseuds/leo_minor
Summary: “I’ve got a headache.”And he does, and it’s (unbearable) awful, and he’s been trying to shake it off for days, but it clings and holds on and won’t let him go. The room is full and stuffy (like his skull) and he can hear every sigh, every sniff, every brush of fabric against fabric, skin against skin. They’re all high – of course they’re all high – but he just can’t seem to climb along. Everything looks grey, like every day in this shithole.
Relationships: Kaneda Shoutarou/Shima Tetsuo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	bittersweet migraine in my head

“I’ve got a headache.”

And he does, and it’s (_unbearable)_ awful, and he’s been trying to shake it off for days, but it clings and holds on and won’t let him go. The room is full and stuffy (_like his skull) _and he can hear every sigh, every sniff, every brush of fabric against fabric, skin against skin. They’re all high – of course they’re all high – but he just can’t seem to climb along. Everything looks grey, like every day in this shithole.

“Just take a pill, man !” someone shouts his way, and he’s so surprised they heard him that his brain reels. Someone else adds a few words, and laughter erupts all around him, but it’s all drowned in a sea of fucking static; he can’t make anything out. His eardrums feel like they’re about to goddamn explode. He tries to move his head, but it throbs with every strain, and his eyes screw shut. His knees tremble and bump into each other.

Something reaches out to touch him. It’s freezing against his shoulder. He’s sweating – why is he sweating ? Why is he sweating so _(goddamn) _much ? He wipes his forehead and looks around him for an (_escape)_ exit for the eighth time this evening, but everything is stretched out and deformed and looming towards him, block dots (_plaguing) _blocking out his sight. Even his body doesn’t feel right anymore, and when he stares down at his feet, they look too long and too far away. Come home, feet.

He can’t remember. Is it the pills ? Has he even taken any ?

Is he going mad ?

He clutches his head between two sweat-slicked hands, and that freezing sensation returns. It’s Kaneda’s hand (_isn’t it always) _and he’s looking as boisterous as ever. He’s in his element in here, like everywhere else : it’s noisy, it’s crowded, god, it _smells, _but he’s just sittin’ in the middle of it all like some kind of monarch. He’s got that ginger girl in his lap again _(he’s never quite caught her name) _and she’s _(just a stupid whore anyway) _kissing down his neck sloppily. The sound is disgusting. Kaneda doesn’t even seem to notice – there’s a drip of saliva gleaming on his lip that suggests he isn’t noticing very much right now. He takes his hand back _(so cold !) _and puts it back on the girl’s hip.

“Yeah, Tetsuo !” he says, voice bordering between bliss and authority. Each syllable wavers more than the previous. “Just take another pill !”

“Already have,” he replies _(lies…?), _surprised by the sound of his own voice. His a’s tremble, like his teeth are chattering. It’s _(like all this shit) _beyond his control.

“You look like death, man,” Kaneda says softly, and there’s a spark of sensibility in his eye, but the drugs kick in again and his pupils dilate. Once again, he’s lost to this world. The lucky bastard. Tetsuo wishes he could be, too. To feel nothing becomes a luxury.

His legs itch, and he can’t stand to be _(so still) _sitting down anymore. He staggers up and pushes his way into the crowd. Along the way, someone hands him a beer – he downs half of it in one gulp and shoves it back. Glass breaks behind him.

This place is spinning _(like in those movies) _round and round around him, he’s walking on the ceiling and on the ground at once – his fingers close around the doorframe and stabilise him a precious few seconds. He stumbles into the bathroom and leans hard against the sink. Someone has already thrown up in there and poorly cleaned it up. He can feel his feet slip out from under him, sliding along the tiles. He wishes he’d just fall and crack his head open once and for all – then nothing would matter anymore. If the roof were to fall in and kill them all, he’d be grateful.

But the roof stays in place and his legs hold fast and outside, the party rages on. The walls are thin. He can hear someone moaning.

There’s a cabinet hanging over the sink. Paint is peeling off it, flaking on what once was a shiny mirror. Now it’s grimy and covered in layers of filth and when he stares into it, he can’t even make out his reflection. There’s a pale face staring back at him, with sullen dark eyes and thin _(bony) _cheeks. Somehow, it terrifies him. He swings the cabinet open.

“Pills,” he whispers, and his throat feels like it’s full of snot and puss, and he compulsively spits into the sink. His hands dig into the mess of bottles and carboard boxes. Most of them fall into the sink. A few hit the tiles. One shatters. His fingers tighten around the closest cap and pull. It pops.

His hands are shaking. He can’t read the label, and it’s unintelligible anyway : the ink has run down the paper and blobbed at the bottom. It doesn’t matter – the pills are blue, and there’s a lot of them, and that’s enough. He tips a dozen into his palm.

His sight blurs as he drops them into his mouth. Good. He can’t see the _(ghost)_ pale face in the mirror anymore. His throat tightens around the pills and for a moment he _(hopes) _wonders if he’ll choke on them and suffocate on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t. Yet another loss. He should start keeping count.

“Another round !” someone in the next room yells, and the announcement is met with frenzied folly. He agrees. After all, why not ? Why fucking not ? He presses his lips against the bottle _(so cold !) _and throws his head back. The pills dissolve on his tongue, leaving him with a bilious, bitter taste in his mouth that no amount of swallowing can shake. He tips the bottle again, but it’s empty – when did it empty ? Compulsively, he swallows again.

His skull is tethering on the edge of ripping through his skin and bursting. He presses a hot hand against it and pushes in a futile act of retaliation. People are laughing on the other side of the door, and every vibration is a new stab of pain. He reaches back to find the wall and slides down it. It’s a nice bathroom. Dirty. Stained curtain and rusty shower. A nice little bathroom. A sliver of saliva runs down his chin.

Noises become buzzing. His ears empty. His head feels _(worse than ever)_ better enough for him to stand up, weak knees bumping into the doorway as he goes. From somewhere inside him, there comes a laugh that makes his shoulders tremble erratically. That bottle was full. Now it’s smashed, lying in pieces in the sink. He realises he’s taken too many. He also realises that he doesn’t give a fuck. Spit drips down his face. He shoves through the room and collapses back onto the sofa. It’s rotting.

So is he.

“You look better, man !” Kaneda calls. His neck is covered in bites, some of them still wet. The sight is repulsive.

“Shut up,” he manages, slurring too much for two little words. His tongue feels like lead and tastes like death, sitting at the bottom of his mouth. Who cares ? Kaneda’s already _(gone) _turned his back on him and pushed into the crowd. Who cares ? He doesn’t. Not anymore. “Shut the fuck up.”

Somewhere in the room, shrill laughter resounds.

His eyes are starting to _(close) _burn. He shuts them tight. They’re better suited to the darkness beneath his eyelids. His lungs give a weak shudder – he doesn’t blame them for wanting to _(save themselves) _desert him. He would, too. His mouth slumps open, his shoulders curve forward, and he lets it all happen. What say does he have in the matter ? Besides, his head doesn’t hurt anymore.

Nothing hurts anymore.

“Hands off, you bitch !”

She gives him a long stare, a searching stare, a stare that’s trying very hard to read him. Unlucky her – there’s nothin’ there to be read. Her lips, very red under the neon lights, part just enough to show off pretty gleaming teeth. She reaches out again to wraps her hands around the collar of his jacket, but he rips them off. None of that. She’s got that look in her eye, the one that says she’s sober, or close, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t wanna see it. He grabs her shoulders and shoves her into the crowd.

She shouts out his name, or maybe it’s just his imagination. His blood is still thumping merrily through his body at an up-tempo speed, but the colours are wearin’ out already. Another round is only enough for so long. All the yelling is getting boring. He falls back onto the sofa and kicks his feet up.

“This place stinks, huh ?” he says, expecting agreement. It’s what he always reaps. At this point, it isn’t even subjective – the smell of sweat and vomit have spiralled up and clung to the ceiling. It stinks, right ? It does. So why ain’t he getting an answer ?

“Oi !” he exclaims, kicking out playfully. What the hell ? The guy won’t even react. He’s just sitting there with his knees pressed together and his hands in his lap, fingers curling, and his chin pressed hard against his collarbone like his neck’s about to snap. There’s spit on his t-shirt.

His eyes are shut, and even when he’s kicked roughly in the knee he shows no sign of having felt it at all. Kaneda sits up. This isn’t normal – Tetsuo’s always been the quietest, he’s always been _strange, _but fallin’ asleep in this pit goes beyond that. Every so often, his shoulders rise laboriously with a feeble breath. No amount of shaking can get him to open his goddamn eyes.

Someone bumps into the end of the sofa _(mindlessly) _harmlessly and the motion is enough to send the whole structure a-shakin’. Tetsuo shudders in his sleep. A shout rises in Kaneda’s throat – he’s ready to let it spill and call the clumsy bastard out, but they’re already gone within the spiralling mass. It’s eyeless, sightless, ever-grovelling. No one looks at them. No one, he figures, knows they’re there.

“You can’t sleep here, man,” he tells his friend. He’s leaned in – when ? time has been slipping away for a while now – and can make out sweat droplets pearling on his forehead, gleaming under the neons. He wishes the guy would wake up and wipe them off. The sofa creaks when his knees dig into it. There’s mould on the armrests.

This place stinks. There’s a sick feeling in his gut that makes his throat tighten ad eyes zone out. Aren’t there any pills lyin’ around ? He hooks a hand under Tetsuo’s knees. Under the pads of his fingers he can almost make out the stitching of his tattered jeans. The smell of beer is so strong that he can’t tell if it’s coming from him or the crowd anymore – he figures it’s not that important. He doesn’t stagger when he stands up and his arm doesn’t shake, wrapped around Tetsuo’s shoulders. He’s so light. It’s like carrying a girl, or half of one.

Stay close to the walls. Where’s he heard that – in class, or in a magazine ? In case of fire, stay close to the walls, so he goes around the room clinging to the decaying wallpaper like his life depends on it. Once, it must have boasted lovely little motifs. Now it looks like a vomit stain museum, and he thinks he recognises contributions of his own along the way. It works in a way he’s foreign to : no one trips him up, no one calls out, no one comes near. The first bedroom in the hallway is full of moans. In the second, someone is yelling. The third is empty. There’s a loud thump when Tetsuo’s head hits the doorframe.

Heavy sleeper, you.

The lights are off and stay off. The plastic curtains are cracked and the streetlight is enough. There’s no sheet on the bed, but there are no cockroaches that he can see. Five stars. He leaves the door open behind him but his footsteps still sound heavy. He wants to laugh to lighten the mood, and finds he can’t. Someone in the living room does it for him.

“There you go,” he says to the unconscious body. It hits the bed with not a care in the world. He wonders if Tetsuo’s still in there somewhere, if it’s him seizing up and going rigid minutes apart. It’s probably the pills. It has to be the pills. Sweat pours down his temples and soaks through his hair.

There’s something about the moonlight that’s sobering. He reaches out to touch the boy’s chest – his t-shirt is soggy and cold under his fingers. Beneath it, beneath his flattened palm, his ribs rise and fall. Half a second, a second, half a second, two seconds. Two seconds, a second, three seconds, half a second again. His lungs are spitting like a steam train but his face is more peaceful that Kaneda’s ever seen. It’s fucking unnerving. Jesus, it’s unnerving.

Whatever high is left in him comes out as a little hum – ain’t it from one of those infomercials they used to watch at the care centre ? There’d only been about three, and they’d just show ‘em round and round and round… Greens ! They’re good for your sorry ass ! They’re good for your sorry ass, Tetsuo, he thinks vividly, and impulsively leans in to kiss his forehead. Not only is it slick with sweat, but it’s also burning. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“Sweet dreams, then,” he drawls out. He needs another pill. Anyone up for a third round ? The fucker looks like he could do with one. His eyelids tremble in the dark in time with the curling of his fingers. He’s just so still. The stench has followed them into the room. His nose is bleeding.

His nose is bleeding.

There’s blood on his face.

In the pale light it looks nearly black, like a void, like a touch of liquid death pooling on the boy’s upper lip. The streetlights reflect off it and shine into Kaneda’s eye. Where’s his high gone ? He feels _(freezing) _so cold. Prickles of static are climbing up his arms. His chest constricts, and he watches Tetsuo’s shoulders jerk back, feeling true panic seize him completely. Goodbye, my beloved high.

The blood just keeps coming out – there’s lumps in it, black lumps, and it’s fucking disgusting. His chest keeps heaving up and down, back arching along the way, and he’s foaming at the mouth, bubbles and spit and bile slipping down his face. He chokes, and his eyes fly open but there’s nothing there, and Kaneda has to bite down his first scream.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers harshly. “Jesus fucking Christ !”

He climbs onto the bed and kneels above him, but what for ? No matter how hard he pinches his nose, blood still finds a way to pour out. He’s hacking and coughing and shaking like a leaf. The mattress is soaked with drool. He rocks forward once, twice, and with the third motion coughs up a mouthful of vomit. Then he does it again, and it finally hits Kaneda that he’s ODing, the _bastard_ is ODing, he’s choking on his own puke beneath him. His eyes are open but he can’t see and his legs kick out on their own.

Kaneda takes a deep breath. His sight is blurry – that’s not good, not good at all. Come on. Get a _grip _on yourself. His hold on Tetsuo’s shoulders tightens. This isn’t the first time he’s dealt with this, it’s just the first time it’s this bad, and it’s bad, Jesus, it’s really bad.

“Help !” he shouts, but his tongue is tripping over itself (god, he wishes _he _were tripping). The word only twists in his throat and comes out an aimless cry. The music is so goddamn loud, no one would hear him if he were sobbing at the top of his lungs – that, too, he wants to do. He bites his tongue. With the taste of blood in his mouth, he focuses better and pushes one of Tetsuo’s eyelids up with a trembling thumb. His pupils are havin’ a private party.

Water. Cold water. He’s gotta throw him in the shower. He slips a hand under his head and tries to make him sit up. Fuck it – the guy is like a ragdoll and only lurches forward. Blood drips from his nose. Footsteps thunder behind him and slap against the room’s cheap floorboards. Half of them are soggy, for god’s sake. He picks Tetsuo up again, only faintly aware of the mix of puke and spit soaking through his shirt. Oh, he can smell it alright.

“Bloody hell !” a voice cracks, and it’s Kai standing there with his fingers curled, staring at the mess. Was it intuition, or did he hear him shout ? He looks at Tetsuo and then he looks at Kaneda, and neither sight seems to help. “Is he…?!”

“Overdose,” he manages between gritted teeth. The smell is getting to him. “We gotta… we gotta get him to the bathroom.”

The boy reaches out the help. Kaneda shakes his head. No need : Tetsuo’s just so light. It’s like carrying half a girl, or a quarter of one. This time his head doesn’t hit the doorframe. There’s no sickening thump. There’s just a sickening _stench…_

Kai shoves through the crowd with ferocity, and Kaneda runs through his wake. Corridor, living room, stinkin’ crowd. No one turns to look at them, even when he kicks them out of the way. They leave a trail of bloodstains across the floor.

The bathroom door’s already open. It’s crummy and discoloured, but oh miracle, it has a shower. The tiles are covered with broken bottles, shining glass strewn across the tiny room. Kai pulls back the curtain for him. He dumps Tetsuo down.

“You fucking moron !” he tells him, meaning it more than ever before. His eyes are burning. The words bounce back against the walls and slap him in the face right back. The boy sits there and takes it, and he doesn’t move, not an inch. Even the blood is holdin’ still. It takes a full five seconds to realise this means he’s not breathing.

It only takes one for him to jump to his feet and yank the shower on. Fuck, it’s cold, the water’s fucking freezing, and it falls onto them like a torrent. Blood and vomit and snot are all washed from Tetsuo’s face, and he almost looks normal, nearly like himself. Kaneda kicks him hard. He doesn’t move.

“Kaneda…” Kai calls him, but he’s just not putting any energy into it. He’s got a hand on the sink – how brave of him to touch that thing, it looks distinctively like a maggot house – and a look in his eye that Kaneda hates. “It wasn’t the drugs.”

And, well, he’s not surprised. How can he not be surprised ? His heart remains untouched; it doesn’t stop, nor skip a beat, nor do anything even remotely funky. It just sits there and keeps doing its job, because is this really a shock ? Is it ? He kneels in front of his friend and lets cold water and tears alike pour down. His hands are on Tetsuo’s knees, but it’s likely neither of them can feel it.

“There’s a… a whole bottle of painkillers smashed up in here,” Kai says. He’s doin’ such a good job at keeping his voice in check that he deserves an award. It still cracks when it goes up. “You know, I never saw him take a pill. He didn’t go near ‘em. Kaneda, I think he did this on purpose.”

_(Shut the fuck up !) _

“I know,” he replies, and whatever Kai adds to that is lost in static. Something about headaches – yeah, he’d been complaining about those all week. He’d nearly crashed, hadn’t he, on the roads back from the old city. Clumsy bastard. That’s what they’d called him, for fun _(isn’t it always for fun) _but now he can’t remember if any of them actually checked on him. Surely, he had. He had, hadn’t he ? Tetsuo is his…

The boy’s head is just hanging down, now, his chin’s digging into his chest and not moving. Under the waterfall his eyes are still open. They’re so glassy. Kaneda could see himself in them, if he would just look up. If he could, they wouldn’t be in this mess – but he can’t, he’s dying, and somehow this is what he wanted all along. Kaneda doesn’t know if he’s angry or terrified, but when he grabs Tetsuo and shakes him, both come out as one.

“Wake up !” he yells at him. His hands wrap around the collar of his top and bunch the fabric up. “You stupid fuck !” He feels his arm itch and thinks of slapping him hard enough to break his neck. It’s _(so tempting) _a useless thought. He’s having all sorts of them. Given the opportunity, what would he do differently ? What would he say ?

Useless thought.

His skin has turned bright pink from the cold downpour. He’s shivering like a wet cat, teeth bumping into each other every odd breath. Tetsuo’s still pale and still and his face is nearly white. It’s so clammy under Kaneda’s hands that he wouldn’t be surprised, were it to fall apart right there. He still won’t breathe, and hasn’t it been too long already ? Won’t it rot his brain ? Whatever’s left of it won’t even answer his calls. His gut clenches, and he’s faced with real fear for the first time in his life. It’s the fear of him never waking up. It’s the creeping, nasty fear of him slipping away forever.

Tetsuo wouldn’t die on him, would he…?

“Wake up…” he tries again. Where’s the fury ? He’s out of it, now. He already looks like a corpse, all limp and slack. He’s freezing to the touch – isn’t that just the water ? Kaneda itches for a pill. Maybe it’ll give him a goddamn idea, maybe it’ll shake him up, maybe it’ll _fucking _shake him out of this state he’s in. He’s just sitting there and staring. Where’s the fury gone to, now ?

It’s fucking creepy, he realises, and his face twists into a desperate grimace. The water is washing away all the grime that’s stuck to Tetsuo’s face. It’s slicking down every lick of unruly hair on his forehead. It’s dripping from his eyelashes and from the tip of his nose. It’s running down his lips, filling his mouth. It’s takin’ him away, isn’t it ? It’s washin’ _him _away too !

“Snap out of it !” he sobs. His voice is wet. The sound is so foreign coming from him that it sends him into further panic. It gets him thinkin’, doesn’t it ? He leans in and wraps his arms around Tetsuo’s shoulders. When was the last time he cried ? He slips a hand under his head to support him. His hair is dripping, slick against his skull. He doesn’t even remember. When was the last time he’d held him like this ? His grip on him tightens. He buries his face against the boy’s shoulder, but there’s nothing to find there. His scent is gone. His t-shirt is soggy and bloodstained. Has he _ever_ held him like this ? Maybe once. Maybe years ago _(years and years ago)._ Kaneda feels sick again. “Idiot…”

Breathe ! and he squeezes him tight, hoping he’ll choke and wake up. Breathe ! and he pushes a hand down onto his chest. He spits up a mouthful of drool and lets it run down his face like it’s nothing. Is the bastard doing it on purpose ? Breathe, and with some desperation he grabs his face again and looks far into those sightless eyes of his. Like a corpse. Jesus Christ.

He takes a deep breath and presses their mouths together and tries not to shiver and fails. There’s spit and blood on his lips now. He blows hard and pulls away to take another deep breath. Isn’t that how they do it in the American movies ? His lips tingle. It is – except usually the pretty girl coughs prettily and then gives a pretty smile and wakes up. Tetsuo’s just lying there. He’s not even looking pretty. He just looks ill. Kaneda always has to do all the work, huh ? He pinches his nose and blows air into his mouth again. It’s probably too late. The boy’s lips are so _(freezing !) _cold. They’re purple at the edges.

It’s an awful feeling. Ain’t there an expression like that ? He tries again, and kids himself into thinking Tetsuo’s chest moved an inch. Right ! It’s like kissing a fish. His mouth tastes of vomit and metal. It’s fucking revolting, but he wants to think that it’s working, because otherwise he’s just clumsily kissin’ a corpse. That’s almost more disturbing than the situation at hand. That laugh that had escaped him earlier on returns, and he finds himself cackling into Tetsuo’s mouth. Water drips from his eyes. What a scene, huh ?!

He sits back. He needs to catch his breath – he’s given all of his to his friend. Tetsuo’s lips look redder. That’s probably his fault. He’s no reanimation expert. He looks down at him, slumped against the shower wall, every inch of him soaked and dripping wet. His arms lie outstretched on the tiles. He looks like he’s sleeping, only he never looks like that when he’s sleeping. He’s always fighting battles in his dreams, god knows against who – probably himself. No one can tell if he’s won or lost. All Kaneda knows is that he looks peaceful. With hostility washed away, his features are almost soft. He sniffles and wishes he’d seen that sooner.

Is it any use ? He braces himself again, but he’s panting and trembling and air comes out of his mouth in irregular bursts. It doesn’t matter. Even if it’s useless, even if it’s fucking hopeless, he has to do _something. _He can’t watch him die. He leans in and wonders if it’s water or his tears dripping onto Tetsuo’s face. Chances are it’s a cocktail of both. Take a deep breath and hold fast onto it. Their lips meet again; he tries not to cry. Three, two, one –

He lets the air go. Tetsuo doesn’t want it, and he has enough of it already. There’s no use in keeping it enslaved, locked between them with nowhere to go. He’s gone, isn’t he ? And if he isn’t, he’s going. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to swallow without choking. With nothing left between them, he presses his lips down against his and gives him the clumsiest kiss he has to offer. It tastes terrible and it’s a shameful mess but it’s warm, warm enough to undo the knot in Kaneda’s throat and allow him to breathe again. He should switch off the shower. Instead, he kisses Tetsuo again. Maybe he’s still high.

Or maybe he’s just unbearably sober.

In his _(fervour) _terror, he doesn’t feel Tetsuo’s throat vibrate. He doesn’t feel his legs shake, although he eventually feels them thrash. He only hears him choke hard, and he _(can hardly believe it)_ sits up just in time to watch him cough his lungs up onto his t-shirt. Colour rushes to his cheeks. He tries to reach up. His hand only spasms faintly by his side, and Kaneda rushes to grip it. His hold is fierce, his eyes wide. He’s known for his grins, but this one is incredible, it’s off the charts, it’s in a class of its own. He needs a minute. In a minute, if Tetsuo is still _(alive !) _awake, he’ll probably start crying again.

The boy manages to gargle something which Kaneda misses completely. Hearing the sound of his voice is enough. It’s disgusting, rusty and shaky, but it’s his voice. It’s his fucking voice ! Trembling, Tetsuo’s fingers close over his. He looks at Tetsuo, and Tetsuo looks at him, and then he curls onto himself violently and starts to empty his stomach.

Between spasms he manages to help him sit up. It’s a feat in itself : he’s having a _lot _of spasms. When it’s not his hands, it’s his legs, and he has trouble staying upright. Kaneda sits next to him and lets him lean on his shoulder. What’s a little more puke, at this point ? He’s already practically bathed in it. Tetsuo heaves and gags and coughs his throat raw, and there’s blood and white foam and a whole lot of bile spiralling down the drain, but Jesus, Kaneda can barely hear it. He’s feeling light-headed, tired beyond belief. The palm he’s laid on Tetsuo’s back trembles a little.

The vomiting turns into dry-heaving, and that turns into vile spitting. Tetsuo finds the strength to wipe his face with his top and that’s about it, judging by the way he crashes into Kaneda’s side. His face has gone pale again, but his eyes are alert. He’s not going anywhere.

He’s not going anywhere.

“Kaneda…” he croaks. The last syllable is almost inaudible. His fingers curl around Kaneda’s forearm and squeeze weakly. Both of them are so soaked that they nearly slip off. Kaneda reaches out to touch his hair and push it out of his face. Now that he’s awake, it feels _(new) _different. He resists the instinct to pull his hand away and keeps running it through the dripping curls. He’s rewarded when Tetsuo presses his forehead against his shoulder. Freezing. Rewarding.

“Welcome back,” he greets him softly. Speaking above a whisper feels inappropriate. He can’t manage his usual cocky grin, but it’s not so bad. Smiling is nice, once in a while. Outside, ambulance sirens wail. Blue and red lights pour in through the window. “I almost thought I’d lost you.”

Tetsuo only manages to sigh against his shirt. His eyes flutter closed – he’s halfway through going limp when Kaneda shakes him roughly. He ignores his feeble glare. His finger points up at the window _(look at the lights). _“Don’t go back to sleep just yet. Come on, man ! Do you remember what you took…?”

The boy wheezes in response, tensing up against him. He rocks his head forward in a weak nod. Bad memories already ? Oh, they’ll stay so. For the two of them. “Good. So how d’you feel about a little trip to the hospital, huh ?”

“O-kay,” he mumbles in a breath. A cough shakes him again. Kaneda feels the wall blindly for the shower handle and turns it off.

“Neat. I guess the docs’ll be up here in a minute. I bet they’ll have all sorts of fun with your blood tests, right ?” He pauses to swallow the last of his fear. Against his chest, he can feel Tetsuo’s heart beat. “Then we can have a chat. If you want to talk.”

Tetsuo seems to consider this, or at least he shifts atop the tiles. Kaneda feels him blow hot air onto his neck. His fingers tense and untense around his shirt. When he does speak, for he does, his voice is quiet and muffled by the fabric. It’s weak, and it’s worn out, and it’s practically shaking. But it’s there. It’s there.

“I had a headache.”


End file.
